"mad with desire......for someone i have no right to want."
Quoted off of a friends website, a friend who will probably never read this so it really doesnt matter if i give her credit for this or not... who knows.. perhaps she doesnt even want credit for it.
But beyond that... it says perfectly, the feeling i go to sleep with every night of my life... for as long as i can remember... if not one person then another...
If i think back, to what my life has brought me along its way, or what i have found along the path... i think that i have lived quite an interesting life... and im only twenty one. Maybe thats the reason, i feel so old... not sometimes but more often then not - many things have been thrown my way.
Iv lived for extended periods of time, on both sides of the world. I have grown up, in two completely different societies. I have been through atleast three majore different ME's. The child, the boy, the semi-man (not to say not completely a man, just... it sounds too presumpuouse to call myself a man at the age of 21... though thre are days i feel that there isnt enough of my life left, and there are days when i wonder when oh when will it all end). I have been in Love. Capital L Love with the fullstop type. The type of love where there is supposed to be a happy ever after ending without the happy ever after. I have met the most amazing people - there are times i think its just not right for me to know more then one person who is as amazing as the people i know. My friends, they get me through the days, the weeks, the months. I am who i am because of the carefully chosen words of an unconciously carefully chosen few. I would be a very different person right now if it was not for them. Thank You.
I have been shaped by my father... in fact, i have been shaped by his changing. My life as a child used to be one of constant sneaking past - my father, my teachers, always someone or the other ( i was always doing things i wasnt supposed to be doing)... my life as a boy was spent doing things either out of complete rebellion, or just so that my father wouldnt be given another oppertunity to put me down, my life was spent trying to shut him up and to live my life the way I THOUGHT was right all at the same time. My life as a man, in college, in my own place, living my own life with my own rules, is now spent doing things simply because i know they will make him happy. He has gone from the man i feared and almost hated, to the reason i live. Thank You.
I was a Painter, a Musician, at one point in time i was both, now im not sure if im either - though if a choice had to be made i still loose myself in music time and time again, so i guess i would call myself a musician - though again that just sounds too presumptuouse, juse like calling myself an "artist". I never did ever call myself an artist. Other people did, i never called myself one. And now i have lost my art, and its probably the one thing i miss the most. My fingers have forgotten the way to manipulate line and color on paper to create something that is the equivalent of a visual orgasm. I once painted a painting... my first oil painting, the one painting that i was truly proud of. It was a butterfly, a bright red butterfly, open winged and sitting in the palm of two hands, upturned, perhaps in du'a. There was a background of leaves, green leaves with heavy shadow. Black, red, brown, green - a bit of ochre for the highlights. If you looked carefully at the butterfly - you would see four women, camaflouged in the design of the wings, each in a different position, each drawing you in. That painting is not with me anymore. I havent seen it since a week after i painted it. It now resides with the one person who i can say deserved it. Thank You.
Did you ever know me? Any one of the various ME's that have been - there have been three... i think im now living a fourth. When i look back at my life, the most interesting things i see are how completely mutually exclusive each ME is from the others. If i had one wish now... id go back in time, to a life that was simpler, i life that was easier to live. Simply put, a life that had hope left to it.
For the last couple of weeks, there has been this rage inside of me, boiling just below the surface. I spend every moment of every day either in a sleep (or just woken up stupor) or just looking for someone to step wrong. My fists are constantly clenching and unclenching. I have a feeling i will snap soon. Either that or this rage will melt away into oblivion... to freeze up again sometime in the future - to make my eyes hard and my heart cold. Its been weeks since iv felt anything - to the core of my heart, felt anything. This rage isnt a new thing - it used to be an ever present part of my life... but then, i got it under control, and slowly pushed it out of my system. I thought it was gone... it just showed up again. Interesting image - my rage is pictured in my head as an evil clown. I guess I have Stephen King to blame for that. My sinews are taught, my knuckles ache, my mind works overtime looking for a reason. The voices in my head keep disagreeing with each other - this time creating more of a cacaphony then usual.
Is this normal?
When will it stop... when will it move on... When can i smile and mean it?
Evil Clowns, Black Days, Cold Nights, and missing constellations.
Hard Eyes, Cold Hearts, Surface Deap Smiles, and missing Her.
Taught Sinews, Hurting Knuckles, Thoughts so loud their interfering with my Life.
Thank You.
Quoted off of a friends website, a friend who will probably never read this so it really doesnt matter if i give her credit for this or not... who knows.. perhaps she doesnt even want credit for it.
But beyond that... it says perfectly, the feeling i go to sleep with every night of my life... for as long as i can remember... if not one person then another...
If i think back, to what my life has brought me along its way, or what i have found along the path... i think that i have lived quite an interesting life... and im only twenty one. Maybe thats the reason, i feel so old... not sometimes but more often then not - many things have been thrown my way.
Iv lived for extended periods of time, on both sides of the world. I have grown up, in two completely different societies. I have been through atleast three majore different ME's. The child, the boy, the semi-man (not to say not completely a man, just... it sounds too presumpuouse to call myself a man at the age of 21... though thre are days i feel that there isnt enough of my life left, and there are days when i wonder when oh when will it all end). I have been in Love. Capital L Love with the fullstop type. The type of love where there is supposed to be a happy ever after ending without the happy ever after. I have met the most amazing people - there are times i think its just not right for me to know more then one person who is as amazing as the people i know. My friends, they get me through the days, the weeks, the months. I am who i am because of the carefully chosen words of an unconciously carefully chosen few. I would be a very different person right now if it was not for them. Thank You.
I have been shaped by my father... in fact, i have been shaped by his changing. My life as a child used to be one of constant sneaking past - my father, my teachers, always someone or the other ( i was always doing things i wasnt supposed to be doing)... my life as a boy was spent doing things either out of complete rebellion, or just so that my father wouldnt be given another oppertunity to put me down, my life was spent trying to shut him up and to live my life the way I THOUGHT was right all at the same time. My life as a man, in college, in my own place, living my own life with my own rules, is now spent doing things simply because i know they will make him happy. He has gone from the man i feared and almost hated, to the reason i live. Thank You.
I was a Painter, a Musician, at one point in time i was both, now im not sure if im either - though if a choice had to be made i still loose myself in music time and time again, so i guess i would call myself a musician - though again that just sounds too presumptuouse, juse like calling myself an "artist". I never did ever call myself an artist. Other people did, i never called myself one. And now i have lost my art, and its probably the one thing i miss the most. My fingers have forgotten the way to manipulate line and color on paper to create something that is the equivalent of a visual orgasm. I once painted a painting... my first oil painting, the one painting that i was truly proud of. It was a butterfly, a bright red butterfly, open winged and sitting in the palm of two hands, upturned, perhaps in du'a. There was a background of leaves, green leaves with heavy shadow. Black, red, brown, green - a bit of ochre for the highlights. If you looked carefully at the butterfly - you would see four women, camaflouged in the design of the wings, each in a different position, each drawing you in. That painting is not with me anymore. I havent seen it since a week after i painted it. It now resides with the one person who i can say deserved it. Thank You.
Did you ever know me? Any one of the various ME's that have been - there have been three... i think im now living a fourth. When i look back at my life, the most interesting things i see are how completely mutually exclusive each ME is from the others. If i had one wish now... id go back in time, to a life that was simpler, i life that was easier to live. Simply put, a life that had hope left to it.
For the last couple of weeks, there has been this rage inside of me, boiling just below the surface. I spend every moment of every day either in a sleep (or just woken up stupor) or just looking for someone to step wrong. My fists are constantly clenching and unclenching. I have a feeling i will snap soon. Either that or this rage will melt away into oblivion... to freeze up again sometime in the future - to make my eyes hard and my heart cold. Its been weeks since iv felt anything - to the core of my heart, felt anything. This rage isnt a new thing - it used to be an ever present part of my life... but then, i got it under control, and slowly pushed it out of my system. I thought it was gone... it just showed up again. Interesting image - my rage is pictured in my head as an evil clown. I guess I have Stephen King to blame for that. My sinews are taught, my knuckles ache, my mind works overtime looking for a reason. The voices in my head keep disagreeing with each other - this time creating more of a cacaphony then usual.
Is this normal?
When will it stop... when will it move on... When can i smile and mean it?
Evil Clowns, Black Days, Cold Nights, and missing constellations.
Hard Eyes, Cold Hearts, Surface Deap Smiles, and missing Her.
Taught Sinews, Hurting Knuckles, Thoughts so loud their interfering with my Life.
Thank You.
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1 Comments:
It is not their job to know how well they have read and understood us, how much they have seen of us or how much we have lived in them...they can only assume, judging by our actions and reactions that reward them with time and time again. It is for US to know how well they have read and understood us. Only WE can tell how much they have seen of us or how many moments we have lived in them. They can only tell us how much of their lives we have shared and lived with them. And THAT is the only confirmation of our lives spent together.
(i know this mite sound as crazy as ever the first time around...but i beleive in it...)
...mano
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